His hand slides from my throat up to cup my jaw. Gentle. Careful. Giving me time to pull away, to stop this, to remember all the reasons this is wrong.
I don’t pull away.
I want—
Everything. Nothing. Him. This. Something I can’t understand and can’t fight anymore.
The space between us shrinks. Not me moving. Not him moving. Just gravity pulling us together like it’s been doing since the shelter, since the fight, since the first moment I touched him, and something changed.
My hands find his chest. Not pushing away. Just contact. Just feeling his heartbeat beneath my palms.
His other hand leaves my hip to brace against the wall beside my head. Caging me in. Not threatening. Just… there. Solid. Real. Looming over me like a towering wall of masculine energy.
The heat between us builds to unbearable.
His mouth is an inch from mine. Less. So near I can feel the whisper of his breath against my lips.
We’re about to cross a line we can’t uncross.
And neither of us is stopping it.
Chapter 15
Jericho
Her pulse hammers beneath my thumb where I’m cupping her jaw. Her breath soft on my lips. Warm. Quick. Smelling faintly of coffee and arousal so thick I can taste it in the air.
She moves first—lifts onto her toes, closes the distance, presses her mouth to mine. Not tentative. Not uncertain. Demanding.
“Jericho,” she murmurs my name against my lips. Barely sound. Just breath shaped into syllables.
Not a warning. Not a question.
Pure need.
The last of my restraint shatters.
I kiss her back. Hard. Hungry. My hand fists in her hair, angling her head exactly where I want it. My other hand slides down to pull her flush against me so she can feel exactly whatshe does to me, how hard I am, how much I want this, how far past reason I’ve gone.
She gasps into my mouth, and my dragon surges, demanding to surface, demanding I claim. I restrain myself, but the effort makes my chest heave.
Her hands are everywhere. On my chest, my shoulders, fisting in my shirt like she’s trying to pull me closer even though we’re pressed against each other. She’s making sounds; small, desperate noises that make my cock throb and heat flood my flesh.
I turn us. Pin her against the wall. The impact isn’t gentle, but she arches into it, into me, seeking friction. The pressure of her mound against my erection makes a groan ripple up my throat.
I can feel her heat even through our clothes. Can smell her lust. Can taste it on her tongue when I deepen the kiss, when I take her mouth.
My hand slides under her shirt. Finds bare skin. She’s burning up. Wolf heat bleeding through, and my dragon responding with fire that makes my skin hot enough to sting beneath her touch.
She pulls at my shirt. Yanks it up. I break the kiss long enough to drag it over my head, and then her hands are on my bare chest, nails scraping, exploring.
I get her shirt off—mine, the one I gave her—and there’s nothing underneath except skin and pert, perfect breasts and the rapid rise and fall of her breathing. My mouth finds her throat. Her skin tastes like salt and wolf, the flavor sharp on my tongue, making my dragon rumble approval deep in my chest.
I kiss lower. Her collarbone. The valley between her breasts. Her skin against my lips is fever-hot, and when I take her nipple into my mouth, she cries out, her hands tightening in my hair.
Not pulling away. Pulling me closer. Demanding more.
I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation. The pressure against my cock makes my vision blur.
